


Trust in the End

by ShebaRen, Tahlruil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Developing Relationship, Embedded Images, End of the World, Endless Winter, Food Scarcity, Full Shift Werewolves, Getting Together, Government Conspiracy, Hand-wavy Survivalism, Hopeful Ending, Humans Fuck Shit Up, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Off-screen Character Death, POV Stiles Stilinski, Safe Haven, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Some Plot, Some angst, Touch-Starved, Wolfed Out Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShebaRen/pseuds/ShebaRen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: Stiles had always kind of assumed that the end of the world was going to be full of fire and panicking people. Nuclear warfare had pretty much been his guess as to how it would all go, but he could be flexible on that. His only certainty was that it would be man-made, because people always messed things up.He hadn't expected the end to be full of snow and freezing cold. He hadn't expected to be so alone while it was happening, hadn't thought he would be making a trek from California all the way up to - if his maps and bearings were right - Washington State. Hedefinitelyhadn't expected for it all to happen while his parents were away on a trip for their second honeymoon.Thankfully he'd fallen in with a wolf who had saved his life and then hung around like a bad penny afterward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to be part of the Reverse Bang!! :D It's been great working with ShebaRen, who is an amazing artist and introduced me to a lot of really awesome new music in the process of putting a playlist together. This story is pretty far out of my normal comfort zone, and it was fun to flex my creative muscles while writing it.
> 
> Tags are my archnemesis, so I may have messed them up??? If anyone comes across anything that should be changed/added please let me know!
> 
> Thanks so very much for reading, and maybe think about leaving a comment if you enjoyed it. <3
> 
>  **Sheba here!** If you want to listen to the playlist as you read, check out Chapter 2. Tahlruil is such a good writer and it was super exciting to work with her. Thank you!

Stiles had hated the color white for years now.

Mom's doctors always had white offices, ones with washed out 'inspirational' posters that mostly looked kind of sad to him. Lab coats were white, and the people wearing them (in his experience) almost never brought good news. A white man with white hair and long white coat had delivered the news that devastated their family. The woman who eventually ended the nightmare with word of mom’s remission might have been wearing one of those same coats, but it had been open to reveal a warm brown shirt underneath and her hair had been black. The hospital rooms had all been white and the tile on the floors in the hallways a dirtier version of the same color. Everything in those places was drained and pale, like the space was dying along with so many of the people inside of it.

Now at the end of the world it felt like white was all he ever saw. The snow never stopped falling and the wind never stopped blowing. He honestly couldn't say when he had last seen the sun. It felt like years ago, but it couldn't have been more than a few months. Maybe? It was hard to keep track of things like time when the whole world had been reduced to shades of white and gray and black. While there were still a few green things desperately hanging on, they were dull with most of the color leached away.

At first he had worn his brightest shirts just to give his eyes a little relief. Under what the websites had all called his 'outer shell' - a waterproof coat ordered and delivered just in time, just before everything went completely to shit - he had worn the most obnoxious colors he'd owned. The little peeks he would get as he traveled made him want to cry almost as much as they had made him smile, but still. They'd offered a little break, a little hope.

The mountain lion he'd stumbled upon had been skin and bones, but she'd still almost killed him. His backpack had been sacrificed in the scuffle, and if it wasn't for his traveling companion he would have joined all of his extra clothes in being ripped to shreds. The only one he had left might have been a bright orange originally, but now it was dingy and dirty. It probably also reeked to his friend even if it was too damn cold for Stiles to smell, well... anything, really.

"Wish I'd known you were going to tag along," he mused to his newest, bestest buddy when he had finally caught his breath again. Fighting through snow drifts was hard fucking work, harder than he ever would have thought. Maybe his little rest stops sometimes annoyed his companion, but without them he knew he'd collapse in no time. That would slow him down even further, so his friend could deal. "I would have gotten you one of those neon collars. That would be a nice change of color. Something to break up the snow, you know?"

The wolf he'd taken to calling 'Balto' shot him a look that seemed distinctly unimpressed, but he was pretty sure there was a twinkle of amusement in those bright blue eyes. There hadn't been any growling either, which was a sure sign that his furry friend didn't mind his rambling.

Thinking that he could read emotion in Balto's canine features was a manifestation of loneliness. The way he was _sure_ he could understand the various growls, snarls and other noises the wolf made probably meant he was going crazy. Stiles figured that if he managed to keep all his fingers and toes as he went insane he would be doing really well. Hell, if he managed to reach his destination without turning into a solid chunk of ice he was going to declare himself champion of the world.

Wet warmth suddenly bathed his wrist, yanking him back into the moment. Balto's quiet whine meant that his lack of movement had allowed his mind to drift away... which could too easily translate into death. Stopping for longer than a handful of minutes was a recipe for disaster. He had learned that quickly when he was still on his own, back when he hadn't had any help defeating the traps his exhausted brain had started setting for him. Balto never let his mind wander for long, and if he went too quiet and too still the wolf always did whatever he needed to do to get Stiles moving again. He was especially good at nosing between his layers to find a sliver of skin between Stiles' gloves and coat, and licking him seemed to work the best.

"Sorry buddy," he murmured. It was automatic now to reach out and bury his gloved hands deep in the ruff of Balto's neck. There was hidden warmth there that he was jealous of, one that brought feeling back into his fingers in the form of pins and needles. The small hurt was a good thing. Pain meant he wasn't about to slip into a too-comfortable delirium, so he welcomed that sensation right along with the warmth.

"You're right. We gotta get a move on before I decide to stop altogether. We'd better double check our bearing, huh? Everything looks the fucking same now and it's not like I can use that moss trick anymore. Why the fuck was that the thing they taught us? Not about edible shit or the warning signs of hypothermia, oh no. I know that moss is supposed to only grow on the north side of trees. That's the _only_ knowledge I would be armed with if I weren’t so obsessed with research. I wonder if icicles work the same way."

Balto was leaning hard against his left leg as Stiles fumbled for his compass with one hand, nearly dropping it a few times before he managed to flip it open. It would be easier to use both hands, but then he'd have to let go of Balto completely and he wasn't quite willing to do that yet. Not only for the warmth either, though he'd never admit it. The wolf was being patient even if a condescending, irritated sort of air surrounded him. He always seemed to know which way to go, and Stiles had a feeling that he was actually offended whenever the compass came into play.

Maybe, just maybe, that was why he checked it as often as he did. Balto was adorable when he was grumpy.

"Okay, we're good for now. Lead on, my noble companion. Heh, companion. Like in Skyrim. Fuck I miss video games. Even the shitty ones that ended up being a waste of my hard-earned money." Balto snorted even as they started forward, like he could actually understand... so Stiles just kept talking. It was sort of nice having someone so willing to listen to him. Made the end of the world almost worth it.

He refused to think of the friends he'd lost as the trade-off, refused to think of all the frozen bodies he'd come across. He wouldn't think of mom and dad who had been so far away when it all started. There was only the faint hope that he'd find them when... if he reached his destination. His whole world had narrowed to the slow, steady march forward and Balto. It was enough.

It had to be, or one morning he just wouldn't get up to keep walking.

"You know, the first game I ever played was the Sega Genesis game that went along with the Disney movie Pocahontas. Way underrated if you ask me. Kind of wish I hadn't broken that console when mom went into the hospital. She was so disappointed when she finally got home. You know what else I miss? Fish. It's ridiculous how much I miss fish. Did you know catfish can grow to be over 200 pounds? And there's this thing called noodling, which is just crazy. How it works is people go into a river, right, and then they..."

 

~.~.~

They didn't spend all their time walking and sleeping in hastily built snow shelters. At first that was what he'd wanted to do, what he'd tried to do despite all the warnings on all the websites he'd trawled at the beginning of the end. He'd ended up exhausted, sweaty, and in danger of freezing to death because of both. Then Balto had joined him on his noble quest, deciding to like, adopt him as pack instead of eating him. Stiles _might_ have been letting his desperation get to him, and he'd never been good at taking care of himself when he had larger goals to think about.

Considering Balto and the wolf’s needs slowed him down, forced him to think more strategically. They both had to eat, they both needed to sleep, and they both needed fresh, not-too-cold water regularly.

So now every few days the wolf would slip away to scout out a good spot for them to rest. Other animals were scarce and getting scarcer with every passing day, but Balto always seemed to be able to find a spot where they still lingered. While he hunted it was Stiles' job to make them a shelter. It was something he was getting better at all the time, and he used those 'rest days' to hone his skills even further. In the right conditions - and boy was his wolf good at sniffing those out - he could get a solid temporary home set up in an hour or so, one that kept them out of the wind and their body heat in.

The shreds of his clothes actually made a really good 'bed', and he was glad he had chosen to stuff them in alongside his food supplies and remaining gear. He was a freaking genius even if he had only the barest idea of what he was doing.

Once he had a shelter up, he could get the rest of his operation running. Boiling and purifying water was a huge concern, which meant getting a fire started pronto. After he had a pot of water going he'd start the rest of his 'chores', all the while pretending he wasn't anxious as fuck over Balto's health. The longer it took for the wolf to come back the more his nerves would nag at him. If it took too long he'd have to stop working and go into the shelter to collapse in a boneless pile of worry on the bed. He wouldn't be able to think or even move until the wolf returned and curled around his back with a quiet 'wuff'. Only then could he begin to relax again.

He knew he was becoming worryingly dependent on Balto, but what else was he supposed to do? They were all that was left, or at least that's what it felt like most of the time. Of course he freaked out if he thought his buddy might not be coming back.

This time though Balto was back well before worry turned into genuine anxiety and panic. The deer he was dragging along with him had seen better days, but so had they all. There was enough meat there to keep the both of them happy for a little while, and Stiles was hopeful that maybe - _maybe_ \- this time he could get the skin off in one piece. Sure he didn't know how to treat it properly and maybe it would stink, but a fur blanket might be nice to have at night.

"Except I don't think you use deer for fur stuff. They're for leather I think instead, but I have no idea how to even begin tanning a hide. I mean I saw in a documentary once how you can use a knife or something to... scrape it maybe? I don't know. Maybe I oughta wait until you manage to catch something with thicker fur. Not Thumper!" he added quickly and with some horror. Deer he could handle, squirrels and birds and shit were fine... but the one time Balto had brought back a rabbit, he'd fucking _lost it_. He wasn't sure why they triggered that response when he was really good at being practical and hard-hearted about everything else. They just did, and thankfully Balto didn't seem inclined to force that to change.

Well, he did give a stink-eye at the words, but that was pretty much the wolf's default expression so it was probably fine.

"I really should have taken home ec. or been a Boy Scout or something. I'm totally getting better at this butchering business, but I feel like I could have been better prepared. I did try you know - Boy Scouts I mean - but I didn't last long. Something about my having trouble with authority or some bullshit, but it's not _my_ fault the Scoutmaster engaged in a power struggle with a ten year old. I won though, which is really the important part, and I only wanted to be part of the stupid club because of Sc... because of a stupid reason that I don't want to talk about because it touches on painful parts of the past and we have talked about your prying before Balto, I don't want to have that conversation again! Hey, do you think--"

He was pulled out of his chatter and task preparing the deer when his little handheld radio hit the ground beside him and Balto gave a disgusted huff. Damn wolf was too clever for his own good, because it really should take opposable thumbs to dig the thing out of his bag of gear, but whatever. Balto was probably like, a spirit animal sent by mom to guide him to the safe haven she'd tried to tell him about. That was why he was so weird and why he was in California when everyone knew that California was home to no wolves. It was all fine and dandy and he was not ready to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

"You know as well as I do that we won't pick anything up."

Stiles still grabbed the stupid thing and clicked it on though. He'd do a quick cycle through the stations, just to see, and then he'd turn it back off. The batteries weren't going to last forever, after all. Not that he really expected to ever hear anything on it again. Radio stations had failed almost the same day the cable and internet had gone out. He was pretty sure the government was behind that, because cutting off all sources of information meant they no longer had to pretend they had nothing to do with the sudden cold snap that was clearly leading to the end of the world. Probably the less time they had to take to defend themselves from the accusations the more time they could take getting themselves squared away in their super-secret, super-safe, super-well-stocked bunkers.

It was kind of fun when the conspiracies you believed in were true.

As he'd suspected he got nothing but static, but that wasn't really the point of the exercise. Balto only ever tossed the radio at him when the wolf wanted some quiet time. If he kept on talking the growling would start, and the only way he wouldn't end up getting a gentle but pointed nip was if any babbling was an attempt to stave off a panic attack. Since he wasn't panicking and wasn't in the mood to get any more bruises, Stiles managed to keep his mouth shut for what was probably almost half an hour.

When he finally started to hum and then sing 'Hungry Like the Wolf', Balto howled the song right along with him.

 

~.~.~

 

"I'm pretty sure we're gonna die out here, buddy."

His darker thoughts were always saved for the night, when they were tucked away in whatever shelter he'd managed to make for them. When the only light came from a weakly flickering fire, it was easy to get overwhelmed by his fear and the enormity of what had happened to his planet. When he was moving and doing, he could half-forget just how bad things really were. But at night, in those hours when all he could do was lay there and try to find some kind of rest, it would catch up to him.

Balto gave a soft rumble that was probably meant to comfort, cold nose pressing against the nape of Stiles' neck before the gentle beast gave his skin a few careful licks. The show of care was enough to make him tear up and he couldn't afford to lose that kind of water. So he rolled over to face the wolf, who immediately shifted his legs so he could press even closer. He ended up with his face buried in the fur at Balto's neck, and part of him knew that any _real_ wolf would kill him for the privilege.

Since that was a puzzle he was still refusing to work on, Stiles focused on keeping his eyes tightly shut and breathing in the scent of his companion. Balto was still rumbling at him, a solid and protective mass between him and the 'door'. His shredded clothes and a mylar blanket were between them and the cold ground, while his unzipped sleeping bag was a big enough cover for both of them. His friend was a fucking furnace, so nights were the only time Stiles got to strip down to a single layer of clothes. Sometimes he still ended up overheating and had to pull off his shirt during the night to keep from sweating too much.

The feel of Balto's fur against that bit of bare skin may or may not have been the driving force behind his sudden desire for fur clothing to keep him warm.

Except it totally was and that probably made him weird.

"I don't know why you stick around with me, buddy," he continued in a rough voice, tucked as tightly against Balto as he could get. "I know I slow you down and that you'd be better off if you only had one belly to feed. Fuck, you should leave me behind - it's the smart thing to do. Not that it would help for long, because we're all gonna die. It's the new Ice Age, baby, and this one's set to wipe out everything I think, because humans fucked with it. Humans fucking with shit is the worst. We should never be allowed to do anything, because we always fuck it up. So we're going to die out here Balto, and I just... I think we both know I’m gonna go first..."

The warning growl that had replaced his beloved grumble was ignored, because fuck it. If the wolf got mad enough to kill him or even just leave him, it meant Balto might have a better chance to live longer.

"Cannibalism was a no for me right from the start of this, because I've totally seen Supernatural and I know how that ends, and there's not even enough people around to make being a wendigo worth it. And I know you’re not human so it wouldn’t be that, but you’re a friend so I couldn’t, you know? But you're still a wolf buddy and you need meat, so--"

His words ended in a squeak, because there were suddenly teeth right in front of his face, bared in a snarl. His wolf's blue eyes were practically glowing with rage, which was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. He gulped and tried to inch back but Balto's paws stayed at his back, keeping him in place while the wolf's impressive fangs got closer and closer to his throat.

Of course this would be the time his idiot companion listened to him. Not about video games or how they needed to stay away from tree trunks or the best way to melt water for drinking, oh no. Now that it was about _eating his dead body_ the bastard was all ears.

Before his hysterics could manifest outwardly, those deadly canines were at his throat. Too afraid to even gulp, Stiles could only close his eyes and wait for Balto's jaw to snap closed. He’d realized too late that he didn't want to die and he _really_ didn't want to die like this. He should have just kept his mouth shut, and… and…

And nothing had happened.

Hot breath fanned over his skin, fangs pressed ever so gently and delicately against the place where he was most vulnerable. The wolf held Stiles' life in his jaws, and all he did was start up that protective rumble again. A moment later Balto broke the tableaux to bathe his neck instead, drawing a shaky laugh from him as he combed his fingers through soft fur. Tears pricked his eyes because he was pretty sure that he'd just been claimed which honestly should probably bother him more than it did, but all he could think of was that he wouldn't be alone. The wolf could end his life in a heartbeat... and instead was _choosing to protect him_.

"Yeah yeah," he whispered, shoving Balto back far enough to end the licking. "Love you too. Thanks for the fear boner, buddy." The wolf immediately looked down, like he was trying to check if that was true, and just... nope. Normal wolf at the end of the world, there was nothing else going on because if there was he was going to have to kill himself. "Shut up," he grumbled while tucking his face against the wolf's neck again.

If he was blushing, it was only because Balto's wolfy grin had briefly resembled a wicked, sinful smile.

 

~.~.~

_"God, I wish you'd answered. Leaving a message is... ... I'm sure he's okay John, he's just... Stiles. I'm sorry we're not there with you and that you're there all alone. And I'm sorry I didn't... there's so much I never told you. I thought we had time... after I got better I thought we had time, and I'm so sorry. It was selfish of me, but I didn’t want… I didn’t want the way you look at me to change. And now… I know things seem... it's not bad yet, but it's going to be. Phone lines and cell towers are going to be the first thing to go after the TV stations, and I'm sure you know why. They won't want anyone to know what they... but that's not important. Beacon Hills is protected but I don't know if..."_

_"If Deaton can't hold Beacon Hills alone, that means this is big. End of everything big. So if that happens... if the lake in the Preserve freezes over then I need you to be brave. I'm going to need you to come to us instead of the other way around. There's... here there's more of us and the Nemeton here is... well. We have to help hold this place. Being here when it all started bound me to this Nemeton and the people here, and because of that your father is stuck too. So if Deaton can't... if he falls, come to us. 46°47'39.8"N by 121°45'22.2"W. That's where we'll be."_

_"Avoid the cities, baby. People aren't... this won't end well, and people will turn ugly. So stick to the wilderness whenever you can and use that big brain of yours to survive. Survive, Stiles. No winter lasts forever, so we just... we all just need to hold on and survive. There's someone... someone might try to help you. If a man named Peter Hale finds you... I promise you can trust him. He'll help you no matter how much he snarls about it, and he'll get you to me or die trying. No matter what you think, what you see... he wouldn't hurt you, I swear it. Trust him, because I trust him with your life."_

_"I have to go and I don't know if your father or I will be able to call again, but... we love you more than anything. Be strong, be smart, and survive. I'll... I'll see you soon."_

 

~.~.~

"I think... we have officially left California behind. Congratulations! You are no longer impossible. I'm very happy for you. Now if you could stop being so _fucking_ smart that'd be great." Balto's only response was to level an unimpressed look at him while he lifted his leg to take a piss. He then maintained eye contact through the whole thing. "I hope that gets in your fur and freezes there, you asshole. Also, we're one step closer to our goal, so yay us. I think we're doing very well for ourselves. Only almost lost that one toe, still got all my fingers, and I'm pretty sure we've got enough meat left to get us through two more days. We are crushing this end of the world shit."

Stiles hadn't known wolves rolled their eyes until he met Balto.

At least his wolf also gave him an affectionate nudge while brushing by him to take the lead again. The idiot always had to be out front, nose in the wind as he tried to scent out danger before it found them. Even if he scoffed and teased Balto for it, he really did appreciate it. And oh boy did it freak him the fuck out whenever the wolf circled around and began herding him from behind. Part of him was sure Balto only did it for laughs, but every once in a while the wolf seemed genuinely anxious and pushed Stiles to go faster than they usually did. It was probably a fifty-fifty chance either way, and he knew he was lucky as fuck to have someone watch his back like that... even if the one doing it was sort of an asshole.

"So I'm thinking we need to stop before it gets too dark tonight. I need to check my maps and see if I can find us a good route. Since I know fuck all about Oregon I'm not sure what outposts of civilization we may need to skirt." Once he might have chanced it, gone tentatively into some small town to see what or who remained. A few months ago he probably would have been willing to give just a little bit of trust to his fellow humans. He'd have been wary as shit but still curious, tempted to see just how the end of the world was treating everyone else.

Then Scott had bled out on the snow, eyes still wide with shock to have that kind of trust betrayed.

Stiles only trusted wolves now.

"We should be good until then, but keep a weathered eye out, my friend. Can't be too careful." He got a soft 'wuff' that he took as complete agreement just because he could. "You know, part of me is glad you can't talk for a number of reasons, mostly because you being able to speak on top of being a wolf in California would just... no, but also because I can put words in your mouth and what are you gonna do about it? Growl? Psh. You're not that scary. Not to me anyway, though I'd guess to anyone else you'd still be pants-wettingly-terrifying. But anyway, I get to decide what your silence means and it's kind of awesome. Except for when it's awful because I haven't heard another person's voice in however the fuck long it's been. Time is so meaningless. That's why I talk so much, by the way and thanks for humoring that. I just... sometimes I worry that I'll forget how, you know? If I stop talking then _no one_ is talking and maybe we could learn to communicate just fine, but... I'd forget, I think. What talking is like, what words are like. How they taste and how they feel. I can't get to mom and dad and not be able to talk to them."

Balto didn't stop walking - neither of them did now that their 'we didn't die in California' celebration break was over - but he did have that particular tilt to his head that meant he was listening. Or the one that Stiles had decided meant he was listening. It was all the same really, here at the end of all things.

"I miss books. I had a ton of them you know. Mom had her collection, which was mostly craft books and what I lovingly refer to as horror porn. Dad didn't have as many but he had all the best mysteries and also a surprising amount of touchy feely, fuzzy wuzzy feel-good 'Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul' type bullshit. They're weird people, you'll love them. My books were about... I dunno, everything. I go through phases but I promise to never quit you. Lately I've been real into fantasy and shit, re-read the Lord of the Rings books and then watched the movies because why not, and I'm telling you all of this because of a random thought that was a quote from said books and movies. I would _kill_ for some of my ADHD meds. Like literally, bare hands and teeth ripping into flesh kill. I might even consider going after Thumper if he had some Adderall."

Maybe Balto snorted, but he also circled around and came to briefly walk right alongside him. Stiles took the excuse to rest one hand on the head currently at hip level, gloved fingers stroking through fur. He wished he could feel it, but inviting frostbite and breaking his 'no appendages lost' streak would be a real bummer.

"You're a good friend, buddy. Thanks for letting me babble. And I _am_ glad you're here with me. Here at the end of all things, Balto."

As far as he knew, wolves had no head for literature and so Balto probably couldn't appreciate the reference or his meaning. Despite that his wolf still turned and gave his wrist a quick lick, looking for all the world like he understood. Maybe wolves from California were well-versed in Tolkien, and if Balto ever decided he could talk they could quote it at each other while they walked.

"It's also very nice of you not mention how absolutely fucking crazy I'm going. Really appreciate such a solid show of comradery. Do you think it's possible there's a Thumper out there that _did_ stumble upon some Adderall? Is that a monkey with a typewriter kind of situation or no?"

He didn't mind when Balto huffed and peeled away to start walking ahead of him again. His head had that same tilt, after all, and the wolf was constantly looking back at him with amusement and affection in his too-human eyes.

 

~.~.~

Every once in a while, Stiles liked to take out his cell phone, the one that had been dead for weeks (months? how long had it actually been?) and all but useless even before that. He would pull it out of his bag and turn it over and over in his hands, allowing himself a small window of time to just... _remember_.

The world hadn't always been nothing but frigid whiteness. Once there had been color and light and more than just a desperate bid to survive. There had been people who laughed, who created, who loved. Before snow had started to fall in California, there had been people who wouldn't shoot at a couple of scared teenagers just because they were getting too close to town.

Once upon a time, there had been _warmth_ to be found beyond the comfort of his wolf.

Even if he couldn't feel it anymore, he knew it had been there. Before. His cell phone had become a signal to his brain that it was alright, for a little while, to let himself remember. The last time he'd used it had been to listen to mom's last voicemail. He'd done so a dozen or more times, turning it off for as long as he could stand before turning it back on just to hear her voice. Dad's too, even if it had been faint and urgent in the background, none of the words clear enough to understand. He might not ever hear their voices ever again, so that memory... it had to last.

Sometimes he wished he'd picked up the phone that last time, that he hadn't been so busy trying to learn how to survive in the snow that he'd missed the call. Other times he was glad that mom had left that message, because if he hadn't had it to hold onto maybe he would have gone crazy faster or forgotten their voices sooner.

And at least she'd been able to leave those critical coordinates. 46°47'39.8"N by 121°45'22.2"W. If he could get there... fuck. Maybe there would be warmth and light and color again.

Sometimes he wondered about Peter Hale. Mom had been right - the man had tracked him down shortly before the lake in the Preserve had frozen over. He had looked vaguely familiar in the way that a lot of people around Beacon Hills seemed to, which was actually a little strange in his case. The right side of his face had been heavily scarred, after all, which should have made him more memorable. And the name Hale... It _meant_ something, something that teased at the edges of his mind but slipped away whenever he tried to hold onto the thought.

Peter's eyes had been an intense, almost electric blue that caught on his own, and he'd gone as still as a cornered rabbit as the man stalked forward. There had been something about him that felt both dangerous and exhilarating, strength and grace in the movements of his body while the curve of his smirk had been both filthy and full of wit.

Stiles had wanted to climb him like a tree even before learning that the man was the one mom would trust with his life.

It had probably been a mistake to turn him away, one he wouldn't have made except for... well. Except for Scott, who had refused to trust the guy. Even if his friend, his _brother_ , hadn't been able to articulate why, he had still gone along with it. He'd said 'thanks but no thanks', because he and Scott needed to stick together they way they had since they were in diapers. He had refused Peter because of Scott… and because the man was a painful reminder that his parents weren't there. The lake had still been free of ice, and he had hoped that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't get any worse.

When he allowed himself the time to think about it, the way it had all played out was funny in the most awful way imaginable. Scott had refused to trust Peter so Stiles sent him away; Stiles hadn't wanted to trust the men on the road outside of Blackhawk but Scott had gone ahead with his plan anyway. Now Scott was dead, Peter had vanished into the never ending snow, and Stiles was alone except for a wolf with bright blue eyes.

Sometimes he pulled out his cell phone and remembered those choices and chances, remembered what had brought him out into the cold that had seeped marrow-deep into the very bones of the earth. He would allow himself to wonder if things could have been different. He let himself grieve over everything that had been lost, and he gave _himself_ permission to get lost in his head for an hour or so in an attempt to process it. But he didn't do it very often, because remembering _hurt_.

Sometimes Balto would grow sullen and snappish, somehow even more distant than his lack of words made him by default. Every once in a while he would howl up at the sky, or maybe at the moon that Stiles could only assume was still up there at night covered by a thick layer of clouds. Loneliness and loss seemed to echo in the long, drawn out sound that was haunting enough to make goosebumps rise on his arms. When the rising and falling notes finally tapered off, Balto would return to his side, subdued, and it would be him huddling against Stiles in a bid for comfort instead of the other way around.

Nobody and nothing ever answered those howls, which were as useless as staring at a dead phone.

He guessed some things were just harder to let go of.

 

~.~.~

Stiles hadn't seen another living animal since before they'd left California. So maybe he'd let his guard down, gotten a little complacent. Balto was almost always around, after all, sniffing out danger and keeping them both away from it. The idea that there were still other living things out there was abstract even on good days. Part of him was convinced he and his wolf were the only ones left, and his magic wolf was somehow magic-ing animal corpses up for them to eat. There was no way anything else was surviving out there.

There were also days when he felt as dull as the light and as stupid as whoever had started the end of the world. His movement would be clumsy and his thoughts muddled, tongue stilled by the crushing weight of the ever falling snow. When that happened he barely registered the presence even of Balto. It made his wolf worry, and usually on days like that he would stick close, whining and nuzzling at Stiles to get and keep his attention.

But even when his brain was more ice than anything else they still needed to eat. So even though he'd been clearly reluctant and slow to leave, Balto had trekked off a little while ago. He was off magic-ing up some animals to hunt, but Stiles still knew he was safe even if he felt slow as frozen molasses.

The black bear that came roaring out of the trees took full advantage of that false assumption. He was still fogged and dull enough that for a long second he could only gape at the charging beast. There wasn't a whole lot of time to process anything beyond the color of its fur before it was on him. He tried to scramble out of the way only to trip on the beginnings of their shelter.

Red-hot lines of pain raked over his back and he couldn't help but cry out. He couldn't remember if you were supposed to run from black bears or try to intimidate them, couldn't imagine doing anything but getting the hell away. The whole of his snow-stupid mind was consumed with fear and desperation - Stiles didn't think to call for help or scream, didn't remember that he wasn't alone.

Balto came anyway.

The snarling wolf barreled hard into the bear's side, knocking it backwards. That interrupted it's swiping paw, which meant his leg took the brunt of that attack instead of his torso. His cry of pain seemed to enrage his wolf, because heard another vicious snarl from Balto before the bear made its own pained sound. Beyond the throbbing pain coursing through him he was worried that his wolf might get hurt, but he didn't know how to help. The best thing he could do was try and get out of the immediate danger zone. He started to crawl away, biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out again - he couldn't distract Balto. Not when the bear was so much bigger than him.

He heard more than felt his hand break through the hard upper crust of the snow. For a moment he froze, heart pounding, and then... then he fell, sliding down a hill along with the snow and the debris caught up in it.

Tree branches and rocks battered his body as he tumbled down the incline that had been hidden by the deceptively even snow. Maybe he was swimming more than falling, because it certainly felt like he was drowning at the rate his breath was leaving him. Just before everything went dark, Stiles was sure that he could hear someone screaming his name.

 

~.~.~

_Warm hands smoothed over his face and through his hair, comforting and soothing him even if he didn't know who they belonged to._

"Hold on... ust a little lon... Stiles."

_The pain never left, but those hands almost always seemed to be there too. The darkness that surrounded him was soft and warm, and part of him never wanted to leave. He thought he remembered being cold, being surrounded by the stark white of the world ending... but here he was safe. Here he was warm, and there was a pair of hands that began to smooth away the pain._

"Please... please don't... come on, Stiles. You can't leave me. Please."

_The voice that kept filtering into his sanctuary was more troublesome. When he could make it out the pain always sharpened, driving back the warmth and sense of peace that he'd found. If it didn't always sound so sad, he might have tried to find a way to block it out. But the man - had he been with a man? he thought he remembered fur and blue eyes so bright they burned - was always pleading with him. With him? With someone, because the man wouldn't know he could hear. That voice was desperate and shaky, and sometimes it made him want to retreat completely back into the soft, blank world he'd found himself in. Other times, times when those hands were moving so sweetly through his hair and the pain wasn't so bad, he wanted to grab onto that voice and pull himself back to the world he knew was waiting for him. Back to the man who seemed to miss him so much._

"-ill so cold. How are you still so cold? Dammit Stiles. This wasn't... you were supposed to be awake for this. You were supposed to tell me you wanted it, wanted me. You weren't... I'm sorry I couldn't... I have to warm you up. You're still too damn cold."

_It wasn't only the hands that were warm, Stiles learned an indiscernible amount of time later. The man's whole body was like a furnace - like a wolf, part of him whispered - and fit against his own perfectly. With the man draped over him like a blanket he was warmer than he remembered being for... for a long time. He almost wanted to reach out and touch whoever it was who kept whispering to him, wanted to return the comfort those hands had given him and let the man know that he was okay. He was okay, and safe, and warm; he just wasn't ready to give that up yet. Not when the man was there with him, and not when the pain was slowly starting to ebb away. As long as he had those hands and their warmth, as long as he had that firm body pressed tightly against his own, he was happy. If he could find his own voice for a a few minutes he would tell the man that, maybe ask if he wanted to join Stiles in the dark._

_Maybe he'd ask where his wolf had gone while he was at it._

_But for now... for now he floated, and let those hands take care of him._

 

~.~.~

It didn't feel like he was floating anymore, and even if the pain felt more real it was also less intense. His toes and fingers were demanding his attention for the first time in... actually he couldn't remember when he'd last thought about either of those things. Or his feet - he had feet and legs that were separate and distinct and everything. It was kinda neat, except for the itching pain on his thigh. His left thigh, actually, because he had two of the things and could feel the both of them.

It was a proud day for all involved.

Opening his eyes felt like a step too far, so he continued to concentrate on figuring out how much of his body was still there to feel. Turned out that was pretty much all of it, minus what that bear had gouged out. That was... reassuring, even if the rest of the feedback he was getting was confusing to say the least. He thought he was maybe on a bed which wasn't new enough to be a part of his current reality. Beds - actual beds with pillows and sheets and shit - had been pretty hard to find outside of the homes he and Scott had been forced to leave behind. And yet...

Not only was there a pillow under his head, but also what felt like a fucking _mattress_ beneath his dully throbbing back. He was still warm even now that he was awake which was pretty damn novel at the end of the world. Not only that, but the longer he focused on his body, the more he realized that he could feel that soft blanket over _every inch_ of his _very naked_ skin.

He was naked and warm in some bed he didn't know, which sort of would have been a dream come true back when still being a virgin had been a thought that consumed him. Unless he was very much mistaken there had been some man... petting him? Taking care of him? Probably not despoiling him? Which was, again, a win of epic proportions when judged by his standards pre-disaster. Now it was sort of a relief but also kind of creepy, because--

"Balto!"

He'd opened his eyes as he jerked upward, but they snapped shut again as pain ripped through his back and had him collapsing back onto the bed. That semi-soft landing drew another (very manly) wounded cry, and then he was focusing on breathing deep and not passing out again. Stiles didn't remember a lot from that time he'd been unconscious or floating or whatever the fuck, but he did know there were no fuzzy memories of fur or tongue baths. He dimly remembered a voice but no growling or whining, and the heavy, musky scent of wolf he had been living with for so long was worryingly absent from the blanket and pillows.

"Balto? Are you--" Now that he was trying to talk he found his throat dry and unable to give his voice any power. The coughing was a fun bonus that pulled at what he could only assume were the tattered remains of his back because _fuck_ it hurt.

"Easy," that voice he remembered cautioned, soothing hands once again running over his face before one slid into his hair. "Easy Stiles. Don't try to talk yet - drink something first."

"N-no. Balto - where's Balto?" That bear had been starved and desperate, and so much bigger than is wolf, and... and if his friend was dead he didn't.. he didn't know what he'd...

"He's fine. Stiles , your wolf is _fine_ so I need you to breathe darling." The voice took on a sardonic twist that he didn't understand. "Balto will be rather upset with me if I send you into a panic attack. So _breathe_." He tried, he really did, but Balto wasn't _there_ and his back really hurt and there was some man he didn't know with him and he was pretty sure they were in a _house_ , which what even, and--

The man grabbed his hand and put it flush against a warm, well-muscled chest. He realized with an edge of hysteria that said chest was naked, but then he was caught by a strong, steady heart beat. The rise and fall of that chest encouraged him to try and match it. The change wasn't immediate but it did happen quicker than usual. Whoever had been helping had managed to cut off his panic attack before it fully geared up, and Stiles was pretty damn grateful. He was even more grateful that the man didn't comment on the way his hand lingered on that bare chest. Balto was awesome, but human contact after so long was... fucking amazing.

A few seconds later, something pushed at his mouth, something he quickly recognized as a straw. Suddenly feeling greedy for water he sucked it down as fast as the man would let him while slowing down at every soft 'easy' that was murmured to him. As he drank he mulled over a few things, mostly regarding where the fuck he was and who the fuck was sitting down with him.

"I'm dead, aren't I? Didn't really think it would hurt this much, but--"

"You're not dead, you moron."

"-mattresses aren't a thing anymore no matter how much I want them to be, and that was a straw I was drinking through and I never thought I'd have one of those again and I'm here naked with some guy who's been pretty nice even if I don't know _why_ \--"

"You aren't--"

"And if I were alive Balto _would be here_ unless he was dead and I can't--"

"Stiles!" It wasn't quite a shout, but it was loud and irritated enough to get his attention. His eyes even snapped open again, and he saw what pretty much had to be a ghost. Peter fucking Hale was sitting in front of him like he was supposed to be there, like Stiles hadn't left him behind months and a dead best friend ago.

"I'm totally dead," he whispered, finally lifting his hand from Peter's chest to lightly brush the tips of his fingers over the man's scarred cheek instead. "I shouldn't have listened to Scott. I should have said yes to you. I'm so sorr--"

"We aren't dead, though you're right about the other thing. Sending me away was an idiotic move that I shouldn't have entertained as long as I did." For just a moment something like regret flashed across Peter's face. "I was... distracted by trying to perfect a new skill and I hadn't realized you had left Beacon Hills. I'm sorry I didn't catch up to you in time to save your friend even if he was an utter moron."

"Thank... you? Now if we aren't dead, where's my wolf?" he demanded, unwilling to dwell on Scott or Peter's insensitive words. When he didn't get an answer right away he put on his fiercest glare, determined to get the truth one way or another. Keeping his hand pressed tenderly to Peter's cheek was not helping him be menacing and also should be too familiar for a guy he didn't really know, so he forced himself to yank his hand away. "Where's Balto? He would _never_ leave me behind or let you take me."

"You're half right," Peter returned with another wry smile. "Leaving you behind has never been an option. Even if you once did the same to him, he would never do that to you." As he tried to protest, Stiles was suddenly caught in the man's eyes. They were a bright, burning blue that he knew better than his own these days. It had been ages since he'd looked into a mirror after all, but the eyes in front of him? Those he'd been looking into every day since the owner had saved him from a mountain lion.

"... Balto? You're... nope. Nope nope nope. I'm not dead but I must be crazy to think that you... that you and he... nope. Balto might be a spirit animal or some shit that my mom sent, but he is _not_... you're not..."

"Oh, but I am." Those familiar eyes lit up from behind, glowing softly, and his breath caught at their beauty. "You were right about there not being any wolves in California. Werewolves, on the other hand, are... well, _were_ a completely different story." Peter sounded both smug and sad, a combination that strangely left him wanting to wrap the man up in a tight hug. "After you turned me away, I thought... I wanted... I owe your mother a debt."

That hurt like a knife to the heart that was then twisted. Balto was his friend, his best friend and traveling buddy. His wolf had chosen him, or so he'd thought. To find out that Bal... that _Peter_ had only been hanging around because the guy owed mom was just really fucking painful. Hurt almost as much as his back, in fact.

"Right. That's what mom said. That you'd help or die trying." Not because they had a connection or because his wolf had chosen and liked him, oh no. It was about mom.

Peter searched his eyes, a frown tugging at his marred skin in a way that also looked painful. "Yes, but that's not--"

"Yeah, whatever. So you decided to wolf out to track me down, huh? Never occurred to you to, you know, change back? Let me know what was going on? You decided it would be better to just let me--" Stiles cut himself off to take a deep breath, because he wasn't sure he was up to the knock-down, drag-out fight this news deserved. He had cared about Balto, trusted him. Fuck, he loved the wolf, and now he was finding out that his wolf wasn't really a wolf at all but more like a stalker with a pretty decent motivation, and it was just too damn much.

"Maybe I should have told you," the man allowed quietly, that glow in his eyes dying out. "But you'd already sent me away once and I couldn't let that happen again. I could protect you just fine as a wolf, so I thought... I convinced myself that you never needed to know. That it would be better if... You seemed fond of me. Of Balto. I didn't want to take that away."

"So you just stayed that way, probably laughing at how _stupid_ \--"

Suddenly Peter's face was inches away from his own, eyes so intense they burned even if they weren't glowing. One of the man's hands was on his chest, abruptly reminding him that he was naked, while the other was again anchored in his hair. "You are many things, Mieczyslaw Stilinski," the man breathed, making his throat catch. He'd never really expected to hear that name again, and something about the way Peter said it... "But stupid isn't one of them. And I didn't stay transformed because I wanted to trick you or laugh at you, and not even for your mother. I stayed a wolf because I wanted to stay _with you_."

He could only gape, mouth hanging open as he felt a flush start at the back of his neck before washing over his face and chest. "I... uh... that's..."

"Speechless? I had expected better from you." Now it was a smile stretching those scars, and the expression just about took his breath away. "Now are we done arguing about this?"

The answer to that should have been a resounding _no_. But as he cast his mind to all of the objections that he still had about the whole thing, none of them seemed worth bringing up just then. Peter should have told him; Stiles shouldn't have sent him away. While maybe his trust had been betrayed, Peter as Balto had also taken care of him. The wolf had fed him, kept him warm, kept him _safe_. He'd put himself between Stiles and starving, desperate predators twice now. For months Peter had given up being human, stayed locked in the form of an animal just to stay at his side.

"For now," he murmured, leaning into the hand that had begun petting his hair. "I reserve the right to be pissed off again later once my back stops hurting." Peter's expression shifted to one of both worry and anger. He was hoping the later was for the bear that had hurt him. "How... how bad was it?"

"... bad." Peter told him eventually. "Luckily you didn't break anything when you fell, but the blood loss was... you were so cold." The man briefly looked haunted, and then he climbed into bed with Stiles without so much as a 'do you mind'. The strangled noise he let out was more than justified, because _what the fuck_? He was naked and now had some naked man pressed against him which was just... just a surprisingly great feeling, because all Peter did was curl around him. It was nearly identical to the protective way Balto would arrange himself at night, and Peter was just as warm. Sure he kind of missed the fur, and there was some interesting unexplored territory laying soft against the outside of his thigh, but it was still familiar just like those blue, blue eyes.

"Hey there wolf," he murmured when his heart had stopped trying to pound out of his chest. "What are you... ohhhh, that feels... what the hell is that?" Because suddenly there was _no pain at all_ and that had to be a magic thing, had to be. When he chanced a glance down at Peter - whose face was hidden in his neck - there were ugly-looking black lines snaking up his arms. For the first time he also noticed that the scarring on his face extended down his body to at least his waist. Everything beyond that was hidden by the blanket (thank God) but Stiles thought it might go even further. "Holy shit, that's good."

"So glad you approve," Peter drawled against his skin, making Stiles shiver from the vibrations. "Werewolves are able to take people's pain, for a time. Long enough to help you relax. It also helps the healing process, which is one reason you aren't dead right now. You're welcome."

"Yeah yeah. Thanks a bundle creeper wolf." He didn't have it in him to resist the urge to stroke one hand down the man's bare back. The feel of skin against skin was almost intoxicating, so he let his hand rest on the small of Peter's back once he reached it. "Does it hurt you?"

"Not enough to concern yourself with." Stiles took that to mean 'a whole fucking lot'. He also figured that there was no way Peter was going to stop, so he let it go. Instead he turned his focus outward and realized for the first time that they were indeed in a house. A legitimate if small house, probably a cabin. He could see a fireplace where a merry blaze was burning as well as what looked like a tiny kitchen area. It was all one room and incredibly cozy, which was why they were both naked and not shivering. Well, why Stiles was anyway - Peter was a furnace no matter which form he was in.

"How did you find this place?"

"When you.... you fell. Like I said, you didn't break anything and I don't think you even ended up with a concussion. Even more luckily, when I found you I also found this place. Partly buried, of course, but I could see the roof and the chimney poking through. Took some work to tunnel to the door, but it was worth it to keep you safe and warm. If this place hadn't... you would have died, and there would have been nothing I could do about it."

The man's stark, grim tone forbid Stiles from teasing him about going so far to save him. Despite the lying and the debt to mom and everything, Peter did seem to care about him. Maybe he really had been worried that Stiles would die and leave him all alone in the snow. If their roles had been reversed, if _Balto_ had been close to death like that...

This time his shudder was born of fear, and he couldn't help but press closer to Peter. The man made no objections, and in fact carefully slung one leg over both of Stiles'. It probably should have been embarrassing with the way they were both naked, or at the very least arousing... but just then, all he felt was a bone-deep sense of comfort and security.

"Thanks for taking care of me," he whispered, closing his eyes and immediately feeling sleepiness wash over him. "Even if I don't... don't know why you took... my clothes off for it." Yawns interrupted his snark, but whatever. That didn't matter as much as the way Peter nosed his collar, or the way his still pain-free body was sinking into the comfortable mattress.

"Your clothes were wet and you were freezing," the man told him quietly, one large hand sweeping down his side and coming to rest on his hip. "I needed to warm you up. Go back to sleep Stiles. We'll talk more later, once you've rested."

"Okay. Don't take the pain... too long. Don't wanna hurt you."

"Don't worry about me."

"Will if I wanna."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

"Mm. Stay?"

"Always."

 

~.~.~

"You shouldn't be out of bed yet."

"Suck it wolfman. I'm fine."

"My mistake. I didn't realize 'gray with pain' was your intended look. And while I'd usually be happy to suck anything you offered darling, I can smell that one of your injuries is starting to open again." Struggling with which part of that to address first, Stiles was left gaping at the man yet again. He could feel heat crawling over the back of his neck and his face at the insinuation that Peter wanted... wanted _that_ even if it wasn't the first time it had happened. He just wished he could figure out if the asshole meant it or not. "So maybe you'd like to stop pretending and get back on the bed where I can take care of that for you, hm?"

"Okay, one, you are very much not the boss of me--"

"True. But red eyes or not, I am very capable of being the _Alpha_ of you."

"Flash those pretty blues at me all you want, I am still not going back to the bed. I cannot handle laying down and doing nothing for another-- oh no. Nope. Just no. Whatever... whatever thought _that_ was," he paused and gulped, because one of those positively sinful smirks was living on Peter's lips again. The expression always made butterflies take flight in his stomach while heat curled a little lower. "No. I am done with beds for now. Missed them, sure, wondered if I'd ever get one again but now I have and the experience was great but over for now. So you just... down boy!"

"I am not a dog." The genuinely offended look on the man's face coupled with the pain in his eyes made him think that maybe, just maybe, dog jokes should be considered completely off limits. "And I'm only concerned for your health."

"Liar."

"Oh, alright. I'm both concerned for your health and also very interested in keeping you in my bed."

"It's not even yours, creeper wolf." Didn't mean his heart wasn't fluttering with nervous pleasure though. Damned thing.

"In case you haven't noticed sweetheart, nobody else has been here in a long time. I found and claimed it, which makes it mine now."

"That is not how real estate works." He paused again, taking in the humor on his wolf's face. "Okay, yeah. End of the world, you have a point. But--"

His breath caught when Peter suddenly invaded his space until they were pressed together from chest to thigh. Though his presence filled the entire room the older man was actually a couple of inches shorter. Stiles liked that maybe a little more than he should, and he couldn't help but think that it would be so easy for Peter to lean in and nuzzle his neck. Or lick it maybe, possibly bite it. He couldn't forget the one time when Peter as Balto had his neck between his teeth, and _holy hell_ did the moment feel more intimate and meaningful now that he knew there was a human intelligence behind the action. To have the man's blunter set of teeth on his neck while that firm, well-muscled body was on top of his, pressing him down--

"Now you look flushed darling," the man purred, breath fanning over his jaw and neck. "And that racing heart can't be good for you. You could have another fever, so I really, _really_ must insist that you get your delicious little ass back into bed."

Any further protest he might have made died on his tongue when he gave a choked gasp instead. Peter had grabbed the back of his thighs and hauled him up like he weighed nothing. It was sexy to a level that was fucking ridiculous, especially with the way the man maintained eye-contact the whole time, his glowing that beautiful electric blue. Blushing and tongue-tied, he finally accepted that he was going back to the bed one way or another - and honestly, this was probably the best way to get there.

He left one hand braced on Peter's bare shoulder, but couldn't resist sliding the other around to the nape of the man's neck to play with the small hairs there. When he shifted to wrap his legs around the werewolf's hips it earned him a deep rumble of pleasure that made his face burn with embarrassment. The good kind though, the best kind. The kind he enjoyed even if he hid his face in Peter's biteable neck a moment later. He happened to choose the scarred side, and he hesitantly brushed his nose and cheek over the textured skin. Peter needed to know that the scars didn't bother him, he kind of liked the way they felt, and he was pressing his scent against the man's most vulnerable point which he knew was kind of a huge fucking deal.

Three really good reasons to keep doing it, so like hell was he going to stop unless he was asked.

Peter didn't though, just pulled him even closer and brushed his nose against Stiles' temple. In a few strong, steady strides they'd reached the bed. While he'd been expecting to be lowered down, he wasn't surprised when Peter gently tipped them both over instead so Stiles landed on top of him. He let out a quiet laugh and smiled into the man's neck when he heard and felt him chuckle in turn.

For a few minutes they didn't speak and his wolf made no move to address whatever injury had supposedly opened up again. Stiles couldn't feel any increased pain or feel any dripping blood, so he suspected the man was bullshitting about that. It was fine though, since even with his protesting and his boredom, in bed with Peter was pretty much his favorite place to be.

He had already mapped most of the man's chest while they were pressed together at night, but that didn't mean he wasn't down for doing it some more. Cuddling with 'Balto' had been awesome and he had badgered Peter into changing back a few times, but it wasn’t the same. He had still missed human contact and the feel of skin on skin; the novelty of having it back meant he reveled in every chance to indulge. Peter never stopped him or brushed him away. Usually that familiar rumble would start up, encouraging him, and sometimes the other man would even (slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of spooking Stiles) explore his skin in return.

Thank fuck the sweatpants they'd found in one dresser drawer fit the both of them. Maybe they were distractingly tight on Peter with the way they clung to his thighs, but at least their dangly bits were put away. He could handle Peter naked when he was half delirious with pain and fever. Snuggling naked now that his mind was clear would probably kill him.

He wasn't sure if he loved or hated the way his wolf refused to put on a shirt. Showing off and preening like a peacock was more important than conserving heat, apparently, at least when they were safe indoors with a fire burning.

"Can I check your back, sweet boy?"

His shiver was born partly from the endearment and partly from the fingers that skated over his lower back. Unable to speak, he nodded and pressed his face against the man's shoulder as his shirt was drawn upwards. The lingering pain that was still a near constant in his body drained away immediately, and he went limp with a soft sigh as his wolf began to carefully probe at one section of his wounds. The shallower gouges on his thigh were almost completely healed, Peter's wolfy powers speeding up the process. His back was slower going, and the scabs tended to itch like crazy when he didn't ache. So while twitching and shifting to try and get that itch to go away felt natural, he also stopped immediately with a flaming face when Peter quickly grabbed hold of his hips and stilled him.

"Sorry."

"You shouldn't be. I just find you entirely too distracting as it is, and I really should check on this."

"I can't even feel any blood. You being able to smell it is kind of creepy."

"Shhhh." He grumbled to himself but obeyed, letting his eyes drift shut as Peter probed at his back. It didn't take long for his wolf to reassure himself so whatever had opened couldn't be that bad. "You'll live. I should put some more of the petroleum jelly soon though."

"Not yet," Stiles murmured before nuzzling the man's shoulder. He was perfectly happy where he was, laying half on top of his wolf with those strong arms draped around him. "Nap first."

"A nap? Really? Not five minutes ago you were ready to--"

"Yeah, well, _someone_ bullied me back into the bed, and now that I'm here I want a nap. Got a problem with that?"

"Not at all."

"Then shut up and be a good body pillow."

"Brat."

"You like it."

"I don't find it annoying enough to claw your throat out at least."

"Pfft. You love my annoying, bratty ass."

"I have so many responses that I'm not sure where to begin."

He delivered a light smack to Peter's chest, then settled in further. The guy really did make a good pillow what with all the heat he put out. Even his muscles were surprisingly comfy, and the contented noises his wolf made were just the best. Fingers raked through his hair and he wished he could purr to show his appreciation. Even without him making a sound, Peter knew. He continued to run one hand through Stiles' hair while the other stroked down his side, slowly lulling him to sleep.

Part of him was eager to get on the road, because God did he want to see his parents again. But for now they had a house and a bed, a fireplace and a huge stack of wood to burn through. Peter had gone hunting and caught two deer and some kind of bird; for the first time they had time to process the meat and turn it into jerky so it would keep longer. There were all kinds of non-perishable foods in the small but well-stocked pantry, and it was just... just so nice to be so safe.

So they'd start walking again soon. For now, it was better to heal and regroup while they had the chance.

 

~.~.~

Peter leaving was never going to feel okay.

Even now that he knew his wolf had advanced healing and was pretty fucking smart, he worried. That bear had come out of nowhere, after all, and there were probably still a few other apex predators lurking around their dying world. Even if Peter didn't get killed and eaten by something living, the landscape itself was pretty damn treacherous. Icy rivers could lurk under the snow, and it was getting harder and harder to tell where there might be weak points in the endless fields of white. The man could fall through the crust and be trapped, and then he would be buried alive, and--

And Stiles did his best not to think about it with limited success. There were some books in the cabin they'd found, and a couple of them were even kind of useful. One survival guide in particular he was absolutely planning to take when they left. Sure some of the tips were completely useless since all that was left was snow, but still. It was interesting and when anything could happen it was best to be prepared.

Of course reading it only made him think of all the ways Peter could get in trouble without him there to help. So when he was in the mood to read he mostly stuck with the other stuff on offer... which mostly meant bodice ripping romances. One of the series was surprisingly interesting, and it kind of sucked that he was never going to find out if Katherine's cousin Lucinda would find a man of her own. It would have to be one who respected her independence and strong will, and who would tolerate or even embrace the orphanage she was the patron of using the inheritance Katherine's husband managed for her. He really hoped she found love and all that shit, preferably with the mysterious and jaded Lord James that he suspected was a marshmallow deep down.

The sex scenes were mostly 'meh', but he was surprisingly invested in the characters. He felt bad for all the shit he'd given Melissa for reading the genre.

So when Peter was gone he would read, poke at his mostly-healed leg, and check on their meat to see if it was turning into jerky properly. Mostly he assumed it was because he knew shit about the process - it was definitely the werewolf's project. Some days that was all he needed to distract himself from his worry. When it wasn't, well. He was ready and willing to break out the big guns.

Masturbating had absolutely not been a thing since he left Beacon Hills. Surviving day to day took too much energy and focus, and anyway he would have felt weird getting himself off while Balto watched. It had felt like a step too far the few times the vague urge had reared its head, and it was easy to brush that aside and put his attention somewhere else. Now he had time, energy, privacy, and a truly stunning amount of coconut oil, almond oil and plain old lube.

Stiles wasn't sure if this was someone's love nest or like, some kind of shame shack where they could come and indulge in all their guiltiest pleasures. There were even some toys, though he'd been just a little too skeeved out to try them.

As a distraction technique it maybe wasn't the healthiest or most well-adjusted coping mechanism, but it worked. And _fuck_ but he hadn't realized how much he'd really missed it until after the first orgasm post-apocalypse. It had been a release of more than one kind and he'd ended up bawling like a baby once the glow had faded. He had cried until Peter's return, tears only drying once the wolf was holding him tightly and rumbling into his neck. He thought that maybe he finally understood the idea of catharsis in more than an abstract way, and it kind of sucked that he couldn't tell his AP English teacher that.

He didn't cry after anymore. Now he could just enjoy it and stay in the moment and it was _so fucking great_. Though he sorta wished the pipes hadn't frozen completely so he could fill the big tub in one corner of the room without Peter’s help. Soaking away his cares for a long while before a session of self-love would make this new version of 'Stiles Time' perfect.

Oh well. At least he had lube.

The sheets on their borrowed bed were soft against his bare skin. Even better was the way they smelled like Peter. He could close his eyes, bury his face in the pillow and feel like the man was surrounding him. Maybe he'd never imagined other real people touching him before, with all his fantasy lovers remaining faceless and often swapping genders mid-scenario, but... now all he could think about was his wolf.

He would pretend it was Peter dragging fingers over his chest, playing with his pebbled nipples and sending pleasure shooting straight to his cock. His wolf would tease him, he knew, so he continued that wonderful torture until he was whimpering and thrusting up against the comforter in a fruitless search for friction. Only then would he lube up before letting his fingers wander lower as he pictured Peter's wicked grin and muscled body. While one hand gripped his leaking cock he could send the fingers of the other on a quest for the puckered skin of his entrance.

It might have been wrong for him to be picturing Peter doing those things and maybe he should feel guilty for using his knowledge of the man to such a use, but he didn't. Stiles knew what the man felt like pressed against him, knew the feel of his smooth skin and the rough texture of his scars. He had felt the scrape of the man's stubble against his skin, had explored the muscles of the man's back as he flexed. He could draw on all of his senses to imagine what it would be like to have Peter fuck him and he didn't hesitate to do so.

His fingers were a poor substitute for the dildo he'd left behind, let alone the thick, uncut cock that he had peeked at more than he would ever admit to. Still, he aimed right for his prostate and set a punishing pace, moaning Peter's name the whole time. It never took him long to finish and he never tried to muffle the cries that escaped him when he did. Part of him _wanted_ his wolf to hear, to _know_. Every time he came with Peter's name on his lips there was a chance of the man catching him and part of him thrived on that fact.

Once he was finished, he always gave himself a few moments to catch his breath and bask. Then came a quick cleanup to keep from flaunting his solo activities, though he was pretty sure Peter could smell it on him. The little smirk that would quirk his lips when he came through the door and the deep breaths he would suck in through his nostrils made it pretty clear that he knew. Stiles didn't care, not really.

Not when he sometimes half-woke in the night with Peter moaning near his ear and the scent of sex in the air. While the other man never touched him in those moments, he would feel the slide of the comforter due to the man's tell-tale motions. Sometimes he wished Peter _would_ reach for him, but he didn't press the issue. On those nights Stiles would listen to his wolf pleasure himself in their bed while drifting in the soft place between sleep and waking. He would shiver in the cold when Peter slipped out from under the covers to get rid of the evidence, and he wouldn't be able to drift off completely again until the man returned and draped one arm around his waist.

So he didn't care that his wolf knew he did the same. He only felt a little bad for doing it when the man was gone instead of being brave enough to do it when he was there.

Stiles just hoped he would get up the courage to ask his wolf for more before they left the little cabin. He was pretty sure Peter was interested in him, that the constant teasing wasn't only that. They were headed towards something, he just knew it.

And even if he would absolutely let Peter fuck him wherever and whenever his wolf wanted, he'd rather lose his virginity in a bed than on a bundle of shredded clothes and that mylar blanket.

 

~.~.~

"It was a fire."

Peter's words seemed to come out of nowhere... until Stiles realized that he was stroking along his wolf's right side, tracing along the familiar scars without even thinking about it. He turned his eyes away from the ceiling and back to the other man, searching his expression. Those beautiful blue eyes were flinty and a muscle was working in his cheek. Peter was also looking off into the middle distance instead of at him, and tension was rolling off his whole body in waves.

Stiles didn't bother to tell him that he didn't have to give up his tragic backstory. Peter knew that and had decided to share anyway.

"I won't bore you with the whole of the sordid tale, but I will say that it was Hunters. One lovely thing about the end of the world is that they're probably all dead by now. They trapped all of us inside, my whole family - those of us who were human, the children, the infants.... we even had a cat who... anyway. My eldest niece and nephew were the only ones who weren't home. The rest of us were trapped and they lit the place on fire."

He couldn't quite smother his noise of horror, and his stomach was twisting unpleasantly as he thought of what that would have been like. To know that whoever these Hunters were they had burned _babies_ \-- Stiles pressed as close to Peter as he could, winding their legs together and tucking his face against the man's neck. He couldn't rumble, not exactly, but he had discovered that he could make a noise similar to that when he tried. With the urge to comfort Peter clawing up his insides it was easy to start making the sound.

For a moment his wolf went even stiffer, and then a soft, wounded whimper escaped and he buried his face in the crook of Stiles' neck. He responded immediately by letting one of his hands delve into Peter's hair to stroke and pet the locks. He kept up that rough approximation of his wolf's rumble and didn't give in to the way his words wanted to gush out of him in a garbled mess. Touch and that quiet noise were enough, he was pretty sure. He didn't need language getting in the way of the essential communication they were engaged in.

They might have laid like that, tangled up in each other, for ten minutes or it might have been an hour. Peter didn't cry, but he was shivering and letting out the occasional whimper that showed just how distressed he was. Eventually, however, the man drew back and nuzzled at Stiles' temple instead.

"I don't know how I survived."

Shuddering at the hoarse whisper, at the realization that he could have lost Peter before even meeting him, he tipped his head back to look into those blue, blue eyes again.

"Then my surviving family members ran, and after I felt those last pack bonds snap I began to wish I _had_ died. It was agony, Stiles, hovering between life and death like that. There must have been wolfsbane in the gasoline, because sometimes it feels like I'm still burni-- no." Peter grabbed his hand, which he had yanked away from the scars on his side and pressed it back into place. "Your touch doesn't hurt, darling. It never has. Not even when you eleven years old and escaping to my room so you didn't have to go to your mother's."

His mouth was hanging open almost as wide as his eyes, heartbeat fluttering in his neck so hard he could feel and hear it. "Wh... what? I don't... I never--" He would remember someone like Peter. Even if he'd met the man during the worst period of his life he would have _remembered_. Guilt and self-loathing made a hole in his chest that yawned open wide and quick enough to swallow him, but then his wolf swooped in to save him. Again.

Dry lips pressed to the corner of his still-open mouth before nuzzling against his jaw. The gesture was so full of affection that he knew Peter couldn't be upset about... whatever had happened. His breath came a little easier and while his pulse was still thundering it was no longer enough to signal an impending panic attack. His wolf stayed close even when he turned his head so their shared air puffed warm over his lips and left them tingling..

"Why don't I remember?"

"... I'm not sure how much I can say."

"Uh, all of it. Clearly and obviously all of it."

He kind of liked that they were whispering. It felt intimate and sweet even if he had a feeling he was about to get very annoyed.

"They aren't only my secrets, Stiles."

"We are like, the only people left dude--"

"Don't call me dude."

"So I'm gonna go ahead and say that you are free to let out all the secrets."

"As I'm hoping your mother is still alive, there are a few I should keep."

Again he was left staring as his thoughts first stalled then began to whirl. If he couldn't remember Peter he couldn't even _begin_ to imagine mom meeting the man. And what the hell could have happened to make him forget? What could mom - little Claudia Stilinski - be keeping secret that was so damn important?/p>

_There's so much I never told you... I thought we had time._

_The Nemeton._

_No matter what you think, what you see... he wouldn't hurt you._

"... I really hope I get to yell at her for this later." Peter made a sound of agreement, then pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I hope so too, sweetheart. For now, until you can talk to her... can you just accept that she helped you forget, just as she helped me heal? I'm a werewolf, and you've adjusted nicely to that."

"Because I've been too exhausted to freak the fuck out about it, and anyway you're a big old cuddle wolf."

"Only for you. With anyone else I would rip their throat out." A second later teeth scraped over the sensitive spot just under his ear and his eyes immediately fluttered shut. He might have been able to swallow his moan if his traitor mouth hadn't opened up in a shocked ‘o’. Peter's chuckle vibrated against his skin and sent tingles of pleasure rippling through his body. The internal begging of _don't get hard, don't get hard_ might have worked if his asshole wolf had stopped there. Unfortunately, fantastically, the man proceeded to nip his way down the column of Stiles' throat.

When those human teeth suddenly shifted to fangs and bit down just shy of too hard, he whimpered and prayed he wasn't about to come in his pants.

Peter released him, laughing, and nuzzled the spot he'd just abused. Embarrassed and turned on, he grumbled to himself and shifted his hips in a futile effort to keep his state of affairs hidden. Sure his wolf could probably smell it, but maybe - maybe - the man would be merciful. What actually happened was that Peter grabbed his hips and hauled him even closer, making sure his erection was pressed against one thigh.

"Bastard," he accused weakly, now doing his absolute best to not wiggle around.

"Mmmm. Much closer to my essence, yes. 'Cuddle wolf' is fucking offensive--"

"And true, you octopus--"

"I am a vicious and magnificent creature, so how dare--"

"You're cuddling me right now! You're not even making a move, you're just snuggling, so how can you say--"

"We haven't even kissed," Peter answered, sounding so prim, proper and affronted that he almost choked on his answering laughter. His wolf smirked, clearly pleased with himself, then ran his fingers through Stiles' hair. A sigh left his lips as he leaned into the touch, feeling more comfortable and relaxed than he thought he should with a boner. It was weird and wonderful, so he let himself enjoy it with closed eyes and a smile hovering on his mouth. "When I'm ready to seduce you, sweet boy, you'll know it."

The promise was silky smooth and full of sin, sending a shiver down his spine. He felt the man smile against his neck even as those talented fingers gave his hair a gentle tug. Forget the snow and the cold - Peter fucking Hale was going to be the death of him.

"But for now being close is enough." Those suggestive touches quickly turned sweet, and he'd never felt so disinclined to do something about an erection. "Besides, we were talking before you got side-tracked."

"Excuse you. _I_ got side-tracked?"

"Yes. So. You found me, and then you helped your mother find me. She was... Claudia was so sick, and she still did everything she could to help me. I don't like to think what would have happened if she hadn't. More than likely I would have spent years trapped in the pain and my own mind. Later, after we both went home," the bitter note in Peter's voice told him everything about just how lonely and awful his wolf's 'home' at the time had been. "She realized that I had, ah, enacted my revenge-"

"Read here: committed bloody murder."

"Less bloody than it might have been. I was careful about not incurring any collateral damage in the form of civilian casualties. Some of them even lived, though they might have later wished I'd slaughtered them they way they did the Hales. In any case, I had a target on my back and _everyone_ knew who I was and what had happened to my family - the only way to get the target off my back was to leave Beacon Hills, and I wasn't willing to do that. So Claudia, she... well. She--"

"Made us all forget?"

"Something like that. It's not my area, so I really couldn't tell you much more than that."

"Liar."

"Only a little."

"Why won't you just tell me?"

"Because I'd do a shitty job of it, darling. Better to get it directly from the horse's mouth, don't you think?"

"If I had the internet I could figure it out and not need you at all."

"I'm sure that's true, but if you had the internet I wouldn't be here with you. So fuck the internet."

Amusement lit him up inside and he couldn't help but laugh loud and bright. Peter joined him almost immediately, and the sound was so familiar and yet so foreign. There was so little left to laugh about, but he wasn't surprised his wolf was able to get it out of him so consistently. The other man was unlike anyone he'd ever encountered before, and even if he hadn't also been Balto Stiles still would have been falling hard. Those transferred feelings of affection and love only meant it was happening quicker.

"When you're ready to seduce me, I'm absolutely down for that. I mean up for it. I mean... _up_ for it. You know, like--"

"Yes, Stiles. I think I've grasped that subtle little joke."

"My joke isn't so little." A pause, and then they both drew back to stare at each other. Peter's expression was one of baffled adoration, and it warmed his heart enough that he didn't think even the eternal winter outside their temporary home could freeze it over again. "That sounded better in my head," he admitted with a grin. "But yeah. I am very happy to have you all up in this, so feel free to seduce away."

"Maybe another time. Right now it's time for another layer of petroleum jelly," his wolf ignored his pained moan and kept right on talking. "And then dinner. Afterwards, perhaps, if you can behave yourself."

"If I can't?"

"Well." That wicked curl of Peter's mouth just _did_ things to him, things he didn't think he could ever explain. "That could be fun too."

 

~.~.~

He wished the floor would just open up and swallow him already.

Peter looked confused and hurt, though the latter seemed to be shifting quickly into annoyance. That was probably because of the hand Stiles had slapped over the man's mouth with just a little too much gusto. If that weren't bad enough there was the timing of it all - his wolf had just leaned in with the clear intent to kiss him, and he just... he just fucking panicked for a second.

More than a second. He was still panicking, especially as he saw his wolf's expression begin to shutter. God, that had to have looked like rejection and he hadn't meant it that way he was just nervous and now maybe Peter would never try to kiss him again and maybe he'd ruined everything or even just the chance of them being something which was almost worse and it was so hot and he couldn't breathe--

The mouth under his hand was replaced with a firm surface that was moving steadily up and down. It was a chest, he realized through the fuzzy fog wrapped around his brain. One that was breathing in a slightly exaggerated fashion; since his own breath was trying to match that pace it was a winning strategy. The buzzing in his ears receded enough that he could hear a smooth, pleasant voice murmuring to him. He wasn't sure what was being said, but it was such a _nice_ voice that he let himself sink into it anyway. From experience he knew that it took him a good fifteen minutes or so to level out, which wasn't great but it definitely wasn't the longest he'd ever been out of it.

When he tuned back in to the outside world it was to find himself cradled against his wolf's chest. That was totally the best place to be, so he snuggled a little closer and let Peter hold him up.

"Sorry."

"Don't. I'm the one who's sorry. I thought--"

"I've never done this before!" he yelped, terrified the other man was about to try and talk both of them out of this. The seducing. "At all. I mean, I kissed Scott once but we were like, five so I don't think it counts? And I thought maybe I might get to kiss this girl Heather at her birthday party but then I realized she was super drunk and it didn't feel right even doing that much so I kind of just tucked her into bed? And then nobody ever seemed to get how awesome I am, so--"

"So you've never done his before." Peter didn't sound ready to call the whole thing off anymore, which was super. The slight growl in his voice didn't sound angry either so that was a plus. His wolf sounded downright possessive, actually, and the curve of his smile was pleased. "While I'm sorry you felt unwanted, I can't say I'm unhappy that I get to be your first."

"So you'll still...?"

"Of course. But Stiles? Next time why don't you say 'yellow' instead of smacking me that way, hmmm?"

"Oh my god. The stoplight system? We get to do things that require the stoplight system? Nobody ever even wanted like, kisses or to exchange some nice vanilla blow jobs and we're already at the stoplight system?"

"Communication is key," Peter answered in a long-suffering tone. It was an interesting counterpoint to the firm but tender strokes down his back the man was giving him. "I like to know both where I stand and where my partner is. Consent is sexy, Stiles, and the stoplight system works well enough as a beginning point."

"Can we do like, a negotiation? Because I've read about those and I even used to have a list--"

"Of course you did. And let's slow down a little - we still haven't even kissed."

"Well I am green to go on kisses now, so. We could take care of that no problem."

"You're going to be a brat, I can see that already."

He felt he should protest that even if it made him feel more proud than anything. Planning to do just that he tipped his head back, only to have his breath stolen by Peter's mouth on his. As far as first kisses went he was pretty sure it was _amazing_ , because, well... _Peter_.

His wolf didn't hold back out of any misplaced respect for his lack of experience. After a moment of that wonderful if slightly dry press of lips, Peter attacked his mouth like he wanted to devour him. His mouth fell open when his lower lip received a firm nip; the tongue that soothed the sting soon took the opportunity to delve inside. Said tongue had _talent_ too, thrusting against his own in ways that had him imagining it doing other, far more wicked things.

Mostly he hung on for the ride as the other man kissed him breathless. His knees had gone weak, which meant his wolf was supporting his weight completely... and he seemed to be enjoying it too. The more pliant and loose he went, the louder the rumble was in his wolf's chest.

Even when Peter finally pulled away - returning several times for shorter but no less thorough kisses - the man refused to let him go. He swept Stiles up in his arms, head tucked under his chin, and prowled his way over to the bed. Blissed-out and loose-limbed from all that amazing lip action, he sighed and nuzzled the man's neck. He didn't imagine the way Peter growled approvingly or the way the man held him even tighter. It was a wolf thing, the thing about necks, he was sure of that. Probably said something weird about him that he sort of loved it a lot, but whatever. The end of the world was a judge-free zone.

Just laying down didn't seem to be enough. Instead Peter laid him down carefully and then spent an excessive amount of time arranging his body just so. Finally, _finally_ , they ended up curled around each other in a position that (to him) didn't seem any different from the way they usually cuddled. His wolf clearly thought differently, but the only truly new thing was the hard line of heat pressed snugly between his ass-cheeks. Usually Peter kept his hips well away from Stiles’ body when that happened.

He was very onboard with that very interesting development. He was also keen to get his hands on it, but every time he tried Peter growled and pinned his hands to the bed. His wolf wasn't trying to be sexy with that, probably, but the end result was still the same. Soon he was as hard as the other man and pretty damn close to begging Peter to do something about it.

"Easy, sweet boy," his wolf breathed into his ear. "We have time."

"Yeah, sure, right. It's only the end of the world and I'm a virgin with a smokin' werewolf interested in touching my junk. We can totally take for-fucking-ever. Go for it."

"You are a _brat_."

"I could be your brat if you'd just get on with it. I was promised seduction and I'm getting snuggles. Don't get me wrong, I love snuggles, but I was looking forward to a good dicking."

The world spun much quicker than it usually did, and then Peter was looming over him with glowing eyes and dropped fangs. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen - his wolf was starting to lose control because of _him_. Pale, skinny Stiles Stilinski had a sexy werewolf looking down at him like he wanted to eat him up in the best way possible, and it was fucking awesome.

He was totally about to get laid, and way before he turned thirty too.

"Suck it, Whittemore," he muttered before making grabby hands at his wolf. Peter's expression shifted just a little, just enough to say he thought Stiles was an idiot, but it passed quickly. He could live with that, especially when he got another brain melting kiss that drove all thoughts of his childhood nemesis from his mind. When Peter stripped off his shirt and began licking and sucking a path down his body, he'd given up thinking all together because feeling was way more interesting.

By the time they were both naked and moving together in glorious friction, Stiles knew he would never question Peter's seduction techniques ever again.

 

~.~.~

Their jerky supply was plentiful, his back was healed, and the snow was still falling.

They couldn't stay in their cozy little hideout forever, or even another week. Already they'd pushed the limits of an acceptable time frame. Peter was getting antsy to be on their way and so was he. Mom and dad were waiting, their canned food was dwindling, and they were in danger of getting completely snowed in. It was time to go, and he was doing his best not to be emotional about it.

Except it was hard, and not just because all of his memories with human Peter had happened there. The little cabin had been good to them - it hurt to think of leaving the place behind, all empty and dark until the snow buried it forever. If his wolf didn't laugh at him for it he thought he might leave some candles burning and a fire in the fireplace when they left. That way maybe the cabin wouldn't feel quite so lonely as they left it behind.

He was so tired of leaving things behind.

"I think it might be better if I travel as a human, for the most part," his wolf murmured, probably using his super-snoot to sniff out the direction his thoughts were going. "We can carry more that way, and we'll be able to quote Tolkien at each other." He snorted, then yelped when Peter delivered a chastising nip to the meat of his shoulder. "I might try to put together some kind of sled too, one you can use to carry supplies if I have to don fur unexpectedly."

"I demand you get furry to snuggle with me at night." Stiles wasn't quite kidding, but he did turn his head to press a quick kiss to the other man's lips to soften the words just in case. Peter didn't look upset or hurt though. His wolf was wearing that half-smug, half-disbelieving look that he got a lot when Stiles was able to take werewolf stuff in stride. He was pretty sure it was 'I can't believe someone accepts me so easily' combined with 'of course I picked someone so amazing, because I have great taste and deserve only the best'. Peter was complicated, and that was part of what he loved about the man. "Can we bring the blanket?"

Those jaded blue eyes went soft, and then his wolf drew said blanket a little tighter around them. "Of course."

"What about the cabin itself? Can we just hook it up to some ropes and have you drag it along behind us? I feel like that's not too much to ask."

"Why don't I just make it stop snowing and bring your parents to live here with us? Would that suit you better?"

"We'd have to add another room so they didn't see us having the sex. The awesome sex. … It'll probably be too cold and I'll be too tired most of the time, but we should bring some of the lube with us too, just in case." Peter's arm tightened around his waist, and he sighed when the man's fingers crept under his shirt to caress his stomach. He arched into the touch as Peter gently scratched through his happy trail then tugged lightly on the hairs.

"We'll bring some." His wolf didn't sound sure of the decision. In fact, he sounded distinctly worried, which was kind of a buzzkill. "But I remember how hard traveling was on you. I won't risk your health to fool around Stiles."

"Worry wolf," he accused while turning in the man's arms. "I may be a scrawny human, but I am totally capable of sexing you up even after a long day of walking." Peter huffed and bent down to nose at his collarbone. It was sweet and intimate and even if they were facing down the end of everything Stiles felt incredibly lucky to be doing that with his wolf.

"We'll have plenty of chances to have 'the sex' once we reach your parents. I want you as rested and hale as possible while we're traveling. It's not as if we had sex on the way here," he added before Stiles could make his protest known. "So you won't be missing anything."

"We weren't having sex because you were Balto!" For just a second, his mind drifted to a thought that should have freaked him the fuck out, but instead he was kind of... intrigued? Would that be something Peter would want? Did _he_ want that? And why was his brain _like this_?

"How about we agree to argue about this once it's actually an issue?"

"You're just banking on me too tired to argue about it later!"

"If you're too tired to argue you're far too tired for any of the things I want to do to you."

Peter had a point, but like hell was he going to admit that. Barely resisting the urge to grumble, he focused on getting comfortable instead. He wound their legs together, making sure one of Peter's thighs was drawn firmly against his body. Beyond the possibility of getting to ride that ridiculously thick and muscled thigh later, he just liked being as close as he could to the other man. Sometimes he thought he might like to crawl inside of Peter and curl up there, but since that was impossible and a little weird he tried to ignore the urge when it sprung into being.

"We should spend tomorrow packing up, then leave the next day."

"... yeah. Sounds like a plan. While you're figuring out a sled situation I'll go over the maps again and figure out the best route to take."

"You don't need to be quite so worried about skirting the smaller towns. I won't let us be ambushed, and we won't trust anyone who tries to draw us in, will we?"

"Never again," he answered quietly. He'd never forget the way Scott had died, would never forget that it didn't need to have happened. Trust was a precious commodity, and he wasn't willing to give it to anyone but Peter and eventually, hopefully, the people that were with his parents. Peter's fingers felt wonderful as they carded through his hair, and he was happy to tuck his head under the other man's chin and breathe him in. A few moments of silence later, he began to lazily mouth at his wolf's neck, paying particular attention to his Adam's apple.

That had his wolf rumbling with pleasure, the sound vibrating through his own chest and relieving the last of his tension. Neither of them made a move to take things further, not just then. It was enough to be close, enough to know that Peter had him. Letting his eyes flutter shut, he allowed himself to sink into the comfort being wrapped up in each other gave him, ready to nap before maybe fooling around a little.

Outside he knew the snow was still falling, threatening to bury what little there was left of the world. They had a long journey ahead of them through the frozen landscape and he had no idea what would be waiting for them at the finish. Even if they made it to their destination, everything had changed - there was no going back to how things had been before the beginning of the end. There was the matter of mom being able to glamour Peter into obscurity or whatever the fuck and the fact that she'd known about werewolves and never told him. Secrets and uncertainty were wrapped up in the impending reunion, and he wasn't sure that he wouldn't give in to the anger he'd deliberately set aside once he was safe.

But no matter what happened, he had his wolf. He could deal with all the unknowns as long as Peter stayed at his side. Even the cold wasn't so bad when you had someone to share it with.

_We all just need to hold on and survive._

_Be strong, be smart, and survive._

He planned to hold onto Peter tight and do exactly what mom had asked.

_No winter lasts forever._


	2. Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion playlist to Tahlruil’s “Trust in the End”

 

**Playlist for “Trust in the End” by Tahlruil**   


 

**Track 01:** What I’ve Done - Linkin Park (Cello Cover)

**Track 02:** Über den Horizont (Symphonic Version) - Blutengel

**Track 03:** The Gravel Road - James Newton Howard

**Track 04:** Rún - Skáld

**Track 05:** Suurin - RAN

**Track 06:** Carry You - Ruelle, Fleurie

**Track 07:** Marble Machine - Wintergatan

**Track 08:** Nothing Else Matters (Instrumental) - Apocalyptica

**Track 09:** Gravity - Yoko Kanno

**Track 10:** Naden - Garmana

**Track 11:** Angels (Capital Children’s Choir Cover) - The XX

**Track 12:** Welcome Home, Son - Radical Face

 

Youtube playlist can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtvkqVKA9itrPWEhqdwt7a8kNTTubkZxE).

Spotify playlist (Director’s Cut*) can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KNra4rGWYpY6xinHqi4hc?si=N0P6MrwuQFW0GuAp3dqtXg).

 

_* The Director’s Cut includes everything that didn’t make it to the final product but might help set the mood for you. It also includes two changes to the original set-up on Youtube because these songs were not available on Spotify. Changes concern Track 09: Gravity -Yoko Kanno (Song not available, replaced with Where Are We Going From Here - Blackmore’s Night) and Track 11: Angels (Capital Chrildren’s Choir Cover) - The XX (replaced with the Original Version by The XX)._

 

**Author's Note:**

> So... if I ever get caught up on everything I have to do or if the urge strikes, I do plan to continue this. It'll just be a while coming because I am so behind. :'D
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
